


Ask Dean: Song Requests and Prostates

by compo67



Series: The Chicago Verse [135]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Askbox Fic, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Established Relationship, Grumpy Dean Winchester, Grumpy Old Men, M/M, Old Married Couple, POV Dean Winchester, Random Song Challenge, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, ask Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 13:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21393229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compo67/pseuds/compo67
Summary: Readers ask questions to The Chicago Verse Dean and he attempts to answer them.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: The Chicago Verse [135]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/46578
Comments: 13
Kudos: 61





	Ask Dean: Song Requests and Prostates

**Author's Note:**

> if you'd like to submit a question or just chat about tcv, catch me at compo67.tumblr.com <3

** **

**Hey Dean, what songs instantly make you think of Sam? **

I’m gonna make this quick. You know why? Cause thanks to some asshole, I have to sit my ass down and spend my valuable time answering questions about my prostate. 

Yup. That’s a thing. I’ll deal with _them_ later.

So. 

Hell, I’m sure you expect me to go with something by Kansas or Zeppelin. To that I say, ‘Fuck you, you don’t know me.’ Or maybe, ‘That’s my purse, I don’t know you.’ 

I’ll go with a wild card and you can take it or leave it. 

If you’re ever in Pilsen, you’re gonna take the Pink Line. It’s just a fact. One way or another you’ll end up on the Pink Line at 4 AM, with your hangover starting to kick in. I was on it this one time because I had to meet Sam in the Loop, and I was not about to drive Baby into that mess. 

It would legitimately not surprise me to get on the L and find a demon arguing with a local over the tamales. That’s just what happens on the L.

Dammit, I’m on a tangent. 

Anyway. So. You live in Pilsen, you take the Pink Line, it’s a fact of life. And when you’re on the L anything is game. Fist fights? Check. Chronic masturbators? Check. Someone sneezing directly into their hand and then holding onto the seat in front of you? Check. Someone eating four Big Macs in a row without stopping, then belching so loud you can feel it graze your ear? Chicago’s finest hour. 

And then there’s the music. If you’re not waiting for the train to move again because it’s broken down for the millionth time that day, you’re listening to someone else’s music. Even if you have your own headphones on, someone else’s will somehow get through. 

I’ve listened to some weird ass shit on the L.

Weird. Ass. Shit. 

One time, this unassuming, petite Korean lady boarded and belted out the entire operatic song, “Il barbiere di Siviglia.” As in the Barber From Seville. Yup. 

The whole thing. From start to finish. In Italian. Loud enough to fill a concert hall. She couldn’t have been taller than my cane. 

Ah, bravo Figaro! Bravo, bravissimo;  
a te fortuna, a te fortuna, a te fortuna  
non manchera.La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la….

It was… fucking awesome. 

She got on at 18th and got off on Cicero, where I hope she went and got herself some kick ass Puerto Rican food, because that’s the only reason _I_ ever go to Cicero. 

(If she shows up on something like America’s Got Talent, I called it.)

Okay, so picture it. I’m on the Pink Line, headed towards the Loop because Sam just had to go to this conference thing and wanted me to join him for lunch because according to him, I had nothing else to do. Napping is doing something. Not that he cared. 

I’m sitting, because my ass deserves to sit. Standing on the L is reserved for punk ass kids and assholes in suits who can’t pry their phone away from their ears for two seconds. 

Somewhere around Clinton, this group of four teenage girls got on and sat across from me. No big deal. They were skipping class and I was skipping out on the piles of laundry some Sasquatch had left for me to do. All was well. Until. 

That One Dude Who Is A Little Too Friendly To Young Women on the Train stands near them. There's always one of those dudes on every single fucking train. And he did what they all do. Hover. Loom. Starts laughing at their jokes even though no one invited his ass to participate. So I’m watching the creep and trying to gauge the girls’ responses and trying not to yell at the conductor because god damn, is the CTA trying to scramble my internal organs? Can we ever have a smooth ride? (Ha!)

I’m also thinking that Sam owes me. OWES ME BIG TIME.

I hate the afternoon creeps. I hate them more than the 2 AM creeps. I wasn’t wearing my steel toed ass kicking boots and the creep’s hand was about to reach for… 

“WOKE UP FEELIN’ LIKE I JUST MIGHT RUN FOR PRESIDENT.” 

One girl stood the fuck up right then and there. 

Extended her arms and started to DANCE.

“BAD BITCH, DIAMONDS IN MY COLLAR BONE,” one of her friends shouted, standing up and doing the same, in fucking sync. 

“YEE YEE.” Third girl.

“BUY MY WHIP BY MYSELF. PAY MY RENT BY MYSELF.” Fourth girl. 

The car was rocking. Swaying. Thundering. These girls were not playing. Their hair whipped over their shoulders. Their rings and bracelets fucking glittered. Nothing stopped them. Not even the train coming to a stop for another fucking delay. Music blasted from each one of their phones. 

And I was, to quote them, LIVING FOR IT. 

The first girl lead the one two punch of lyrics like Figaro on steroids. 

“IF YOU FIGHT LIKE A GIRL.CRY LIKE A GIRL. DO YO’ THING RUN THE WHOLE DAMN WORLD. IF YOU FEEL LIKE A GIRL, THEN YA REAL LIKE A GIRL.” 

Shit, fuck, I didn’t know my fucking name when I got to my stop.

I grabbed the creep by the collar and dragged him off the car with me. The girls barely noticed. The train left, still rocking, still swaying, still echoing, “IF YOU FEEL LIKE A GIRL, THEN YA REAL LIKE A GIRL.” 

Mind. Blown. Check. Mate. 

All sorts of shit clicked.

It just… hadn’t been phrased to me that way. Ever. 

_If you feel like a girl, then you’re real like a girl. _

Sometimes you just need it shouted at you. 

And sometimes, someone you know, needs it shouted at them. Or maybe not shouted, but played on repeat for someone else you meet for lunch in the Loop. Someone who really needed to hear that and absorb it for themselves. Someone who’s been trying and fighting with themselves about internal shit and self doubt.

You know. 

Someone like the Professor.

Now that song’s everywhere–on the radio in a cab or an uber or in the mercado’s tinny stereo or on the bluetooth speaker in our bathroom. 

This is way too fucking long. See what you made me do.

-DW

PS. Heard you say I’m not the baddest bitch, you lie.

**If Sam should describe you with a song which one would he choose? -SM**

You just had to ask about _ Sam’s _ musical tastes, huh? Ugh. 

I want to make one thing clear. I have better taste in music. Capiche? 

Now let’s see what he wrote down. 

Oh, fuck. 

“I can’t pick just _ one _, dipshit. Here. And don’t make fun of them while you’re reading them.” You really thought that would work, Professor? For fuck’s sake, here we go. “1. Renegade by Styx.” Okay, you know, that’s not half bad. 

Jesus Christ. Sam. “2. Mr. Brightside by The Killers.” I can’t argue with your list because it’s your list but I’m gonna argue with you. Look. I had to listen to you listen to this song approximately four million times. You. Have. A. Problem.

I’m almost afraid to know the last one. Could it possibly get worse? No, yes, yes it could very much get worse. Fuck it. Let’s see. 

“3.Viva Las Vegas by Elvis Presley.” 

Well. 

Yeah.

Actually. Yeah, okay. 

Alright, I agree with that one. I’m not mortified by two out of three of these so I guess. That’s. You know, pretty good. I expected three Celine Dion songs, but hey, this ain’t half bad. 

Thanks for the question. 

-DW

**So Dean, why don't you ever let Sam top? I'm sure you would like to have your prostate massaged! -M17**

I just want you to picture my face, okay? Can you do that for me? I think you can. 

One eyebrow up. One leg crossed over the other. Leaning back in my chair. 

Now.

What makes you think I don’t? 

Don’t believe everything you _don't_ read. 

-DW

**Author's Note:**

> god i had so much fun picturing dean and sam rocking out to lizzo. it made my millennium. 
> 
> okay okay but can i add one more song into the "songs that make Sam think of Dean" hat??? okay? okay. 
> 
> scoot your butt over to wherever you listen to music and listen to "all over the radio" by roger clyne & the peacemakers. please. do this for me. do this for TCV sam and dean. XD it is legit something i listed to on repeat when i first started writing this verse. i've probably told you to listen to this before but omg. 
> 
> big thank you to my beta Deb. :D 
> 
> and thank you to y'all for being here and asking these questions! there are more to come. this is a nice chance to do something a bit different in between the follow up to The Reading Room. <3


End file.
